


Breaking In

by ancslove



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, The Iliad - Homer
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Rape as an Assertion of Dominance, Rape to Humiliate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-10-25 12:48:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20724449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancslove/pseuds/ancslove
Summary: The newly-arrived Achilles, prophesied Savior of the Achaean Army, was quickly proving to be a thorn in Agamemnon's side.  Luckily, he knew just how to tame this boy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reine_des_corbeaux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reine_des_corbeaux/gifts).

The Myrmidon Prince was arrogant, insufferable, and stunningly beautiful. Lithe, strong body, long golden hair framing chiseled features, stormy blue eyes that regarded the assembly at Aulis with equal measures of curiosity and disdain. Already, Agamemnon had heard the soldiers’ gossip, that if Old Tyndareus had only waited a few more years, beautiful Helen could have chosen Achilles as her husband, and none of this would have come to pass. 

Upon arrival, Achilles had already made much of the fact that he was not bound by the Horse Oath. He was here of his own free will, because Agamemnon needed _him_, not the other way around, and he could leave whenever he saw fit. And the other chiefs had marveled, at his strength and beauty like the gods, and the prophecy that foretold Troy’s doom with Achilles’ presence. When Achilles insisted on his men’s independence, no one questioned it. When Achilles refused to pledge fealty to Agamemnon, chosen by the other kings to lead the host, no one demurred. Agamemnon could only be grateful that no one else seemed eager to follow the path that Achilles forged. This endeavor would be risky enough, without a hundred kings and princes all insisting upon equal provenance.

Pacing the floor of his tent, Agamemnon groused to his brother, a rather unconcerned Menelaus.

“Arrogant cub! I’d sooner toss him into the sea, if Calchas hadn’t been so sure that we need him.”

“That might not do too much, if the stories about his mother are true,” said Menelaus, shrugging in blatant disinterest.

“Did you know he intends on bringing both his lieutenants to every war council? Why can he not simply inform them of our decisions on his own time?”

“Your decisions, you mean. And why not? Diomedes often brings Sthenelus, and Idomeneus has Meriones. Patroclus at least swore Tyndareus’ Oath. He seems a sensible sort.”

No, Achilles needed to be brought to heel. When Agamemnon said as much, Menelaus laughed. “He’s not a horse, brother. He’s a man.”

“Hmphh,” Agamemnon sniffed. “Closer to a boy than a man. He’s untried, unproven, never fought a pitched battle before. And in he walks as if he were Ares himself. He needs to be broken in, before he ruins the entire expedition.” 

Agamemnon would break him, as sure as if he were a new horse or prospective wife. There could only be one undisputed leader, or the entire Trojan venture would be doomed before it truly began.

* * *

The following night, he sent Nestor to summon Achilles, and only Achilles, to his tent. The young prince wouldn’t refuse such a venerable king. Nestor delivered his prize and took his leave of them, garnering a smile of thanks from Achilles. It was especially galling, seeing Achilles pay his respects to the old man. For all his impetuous fire, Achilles seemed to have no issue according the other kings the acknowledgement their station merited. Well, Agamemnon would have his submission tonight.

Achilles’ smile dropped as he turned. “You wanted to see me?”

Agamemnon bit back his irritation at the lack of any honorific. “How are you and your soldiers settling?”

Achilles lifted one shoulder casually. “Well enough. Eager to set forth across the sea.” The bright blue eyes watched him steadily, expectantly. 

“Good, good. I called you here tonight to finalize your position in this expedition.”

“What more is there to say?”

Agamemnon smiled. “All cohort leaders and Oath-swearers must officially acknowledge me as the chief of our combined forces. With so many kings and princes and chieftains here, leaders who may have previously had armed conflicts with each other, the fleet must have a Commander in Chief. The kings have named me thus, as I bring the largest single force. That way, if future conflicts arouse, they can be cleanly mediated.”

Achilles frowned. “I can control my own men. The kings agreed that the Myrmidons are mine to command.”

“Yes, and they will remain yours. But the expedition needs assurances from you, and your second Patroclus, as an Oath-swearer, that you will ultimately recognize my authority.”

A flicker of uncertain anger flashed across Achilles’ young face, and Agamemnon quickly continued. “A formality only, but one that you can accomplish for both yourself and your lieutenant, if you so choose.”

“And what would this formality entail?”

“You can either swear your allegiance to me, before Zeus and Olympus”

“No,” Achilles cut him off. 

Unperturbed, certain that he had the upper hand now, Agamemnon continued. “Or we can observe the more ancient rite. One night with me, submitting to my will, as the elder and more kingly commander. No formal oaths, no words that may compromise your fealty to your royal father. A gesture of good faith, no more.”

Achilles hesitated, unsure, too innocent for anger. Agamemnon was struck again at how young he was. A beardless boy, lacking in human male instruction or interaction. 

“A few of the younger princes opted for this method,” Agamemnon lied smoothly. And then he played his trump card. “If you’d rather, then Patroclus, as an Oath-Swearer, can stand for the both of you.”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” Achilles decided quickly. “My agreement here will suffice for his.”

Agamemnon hid his triumph. He would enjoy this. 

* * *

Achilles licked his lips, drawing Agamemnon’s gaze to that ripe, haughty mouth. “How do we do this?”

“Kneel.” How Agamemnon wanted that mouth.

“No,” Achilles refused, and Agamemnon didn’t press the issue. He’d have the prince on his knees before the night was over. He could wait.

“On the bed then, if you prefer. Make yourself comfortable. Oh, and remove your clothing as you go.”

Achilles stripped swiftly, economically. There was nothing particularly enticing about his actions, but Agamemnon felt his groin stir. Smooth, unblemished skin rippled over lean, supple muscle. The softness of youth quickly yielding to the strength and surety of manhood. And tonight, all of that power and beauty belonged to him.

Lying on Agamemnon’s bed, Achilles looked far too comfortable, those bright blue eyes steady and expectant. Crossing the room quickly, Agamemnon knelt by his head. He reached out, ran two fingers down the sculpted jaw. Lovely. 

“Open for me.”

Achilles hesitated, and Agamemnon pressed down against his jaw. Slowly, his lips parted. Straddling the youth’s slim shoulders, Agamemnon opened his robes and bared his hard shaft. Achilles’ mouth was warm and just moist enough as Agamemnon’s cock slid over his tongue. Sliding in and out, his eyes fell closed in pleasure. Soon, the head of his cock was bumping against the back of Achilles’ throat. He coughed beneath him, but Agamemnon only thrust harder. Pistoning in and out of Achilles’ mouth, he groaned loudly. Again Achilles gagged, and this time Agamemnon felt the slightest scrape of teeth. Quickly pulling out, he grabbed and squeezed Achilles’ jaw in warning.

“No teeth, now. Relax your throat and let me in. Hold onto the headboard if you must.”

Before Achilles could answer, he thrust back inside and this time he didn’t stop until the head was lodged inside Achilles’ throat. Two more hard thrusts, and he was completely inside, his length massaged by the hot, silky column of Achilles’ throat. Shouting his triumph, he fucked Achilles’ mouth and throat with violent force. Achilles’ eyes were wide and glassy with unshed tears as he tried to swallow. The Savior of the Achaean army, and Agamemnon had him on his back beneath him. He could kill him like this. Keep that insolent mouth on his cock long enough to snuff the breath from him. But then his brother would never retrieve his errant wife and he would never experience Troy’s riches. 

With that thought in mind, Agamemnon pulled out. Almost immediately, Achilles sagged against the bed, heaving and gasping for air. Agamemnon struck quickly, before his victim’s military instincts could rouse. He easily flipped the boy over and pulled him onto his hands and knees. Achilles protested unintelligibly, but Agamemnon was already reaching for the vial of oil next to the bed. He kicked apart Achilles’ thighs and knelt between them, then dribbled a thin stream of oil down Achilles’ exposed arse.

“Stay on all fours, that’s my lad. This is for your own good, it makes the first time easier. You don’t want me to take you dry.”

“Wait. Wasn’t that enough?” 

Agamemnon laughed aloud, one strong hand gripping Achilles’ hip to hold him in place. “What, just your mouth? I’ll need the full submission of your body tonight, for the custom to hold. Come now, you’re halfway there, why stop now. Unless you want to change your mind and send Patroclus to me.”

Even if Achilles did refuse, there was no chance that Agamemnon would let him escape his fate now. His lust and rage were strong enough, and Achilles weakened and vulnerable, that he knew he could overpower him and force the matter. But having Achilles’ submission, even under false and coerced pretenses, was far more satisfying. And when Achilles bowed his head in acquiescence, hot triumph stirred in Agamemnon’s breast.

Fisting his hard length in one hand, Agamemnon slowly began to push forward. Achilles gasped with every thrust, his shaking thighs barely able to support his weight. Soon, he was fully sheathed inside his rival. Agamemnon ran a hand down Achilles’ smooth back, almost comforting the boy. Achilles’ head was buried in the crook of one elbow. 

Leaning forward, Agamemnon whispered, “Shh. That’s it, relax. You’re so tight. If you weren’t so tight, it wouldn’t hurt so much.” 

Slowly, Achilles’ muscles relaxed, and Agamemnon began to move. In and out, picking up the pace. Fucking faster and faster, until he was pulling almost completely out and then slamming back inside. Achilles was hot and tight and so very beautiful, spread out beneath him and almost keening in pain. Reaching down, Agamemnon grabbed a handful of golden hair and pulled Achilles’ head up. He forced their lips together, tongue plundering the sweet mouth, bruised from his earlier attentions, as he rode the boy. He’d had many conquests over the years, but none were as perfect as this one. The proud and mighty warrior paragon, conquered by Agamemnon’s cock. 

His hands roamed the pure, strong body, groping and squeezing where he wanted, careful to avoid coming close to Achilles’ own soft manhood. This night wasn’t about Achilles’ pleasure. Breaking their kiss, Agamemnon dropped his mouth against his back and shoulders, littering the smooth bronzed skin with open-mouthed kisses and light bite marks. And Achilles trembled and moaned as his violation continued. 

At last, with one brutal thrust, Agamemnon buried himself to the root and shouted in ecstasy as he spilled inside Achilles’ body. Achilles collapsed facedown and boneless on the bed, his limbs finally succumbing to the night’s trials. Reluctantly, Agamemnon pulled out and rose to his feet. Best to send the youth on his way, utterly defiled and fucked, before he could recover and think about retribution.

“You did wonderfully, my dear prince. And I am very gratified to be able to depend upon your understanding and support as our shared campaign launches against Troy.”

Achilles stood shakily, not quite able to look Agamemnon in the eye. Instead, he cast around for his clothes. Agamemnon didn’t bother to straighten his own robes, leaving his now soft cock brazenly on display. He watched Achilles dress, feigning disinterest. Achilles nodded his assent, cheeks reddened and lips bruised, and departed quickly. Agamemnon watched him disappear into the night. One problem solved.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And let him submit himself unto me, seeing I am more kingly, and avow me his elder in years. --Agamemnon, Book IX line 160. (Tr. A.T. Murray, perseus.tufts.edu)

Agamemnon fumed. He'd graciously swallowed his dislike, humbly asked for his rival's aid, and promised recompense that would delight Zeus himself. Including an offer of his own daughter! And still Achilles refused. He'd thrown it all back in Agamemnon's face. Agamemnon paced along the seashore. Hector, newly emboldened by Achilles’ absence (and wasn’t that another slap in the face), was breathing down his neck. If Hector and his forces reached the ships, they would all be slaughtered where they stood. They needed Achilles and his Myrmidons. Damnable, arrogant, infuriating Achilles. 

A slight movement farther down the beach caught his attention. A slim figure, shrouded in the night, stood before the breaking waves. Well, well. Zeus smiled on him this night. Achilles didn’t often stray this far from his own camp headquarters, but he did have a fondness for the shore. And perhaps, after declaring his intentions to set sail, his own people were less than pleased with him. Agamemnon smiled fiercely to himself and stormed forward before he could reconsider his actions.

In a quick half-dozen steps, Agamemnon was at his side, seizing him by the arm. Achilles was unarmed and unarmored, and surprise flashed across his face, quickly suppressed. He didn’t bother to free himself, regarding Agamemnon with cool superiority. In that moment, Agamemnon would have renounced his war on Troy if he could only wipe that expression from Achilles’ haughty, lovely face.

“What business brings you here now, Prince of Phthia?” he demanded.

Achilles arched an eyebrow. “The beach isn’t yours yet, King of Men.”

“I am the King of Men. Agamemnon, son of Atreus. And you once vowed to serve me. Or do you forget that night on Aulis?”

“I said no such words that night. And if you were a Commander worth heeding, you wouldn’t have to struggle so hard to maintain your exalted status. You brought Apollo’s wrath upon us, and you had no intention of fixing your mess before I intervened. And see how you repaid me. So now that I see what your leadership is worth, I’ll trouble you no more. We sail in three days’ time.”

“You can flee if you wish to, but Patroclus swore an oath to Zeus. He stays, or else be cursed until his dying breath as an Oath-Breaker..”

Now, Achilles did wrench free. “The oath said nothing about seeing the endeavor through to the end. Patroclus has done his duty. He leaves with me.”

“I’ll send my men to use force to keep him here, if I must,” Agamemnon blustered.

A cool, unimpressed gaze. “You will try. And if that is all, I’ll take my leave.”

Rage and panic swirled together in Agamemnon’s breast. Before he could think, he found his fist suddenly tangled in Achilles’ long, loose hair, yanking his head back. 

“I did not dismiss you!” 

The speed of the attack clearly caught Achilles off-guard, and it was easy for Agamemnon, broader and heavier, to bear them both to the ground, trapping the younger man beneath his body. He hadn’t planned this, but faced suddenly with an armful of snarling, furious beauty, there was only one thing to do. Agamemnon smashed his mouth against Achilles’, stalling the other’s counterattack and forcing his tongue between his lips. And Achilles froze. Agamemnon licked into his mouth, tasting salt and wine, as memories of a night nine long years ago came flooding back. In the intervening years, he’d watched Achilles mature from an untried youth of not yet twenty, into an illustrious and decorated warrior capable of striking fear into the hearts of enemies and allies alike. But now, time fell away, a once-familiar uncertainty and innocence clouding his eyes. 

Using his weight to pin Achilles down, Agamemnon kissed him deeply, plundering his mouth. With one hand still wound in Achilles’ hair and the other holding down his right wrist against the sand, he poured every last drop of his frustration, his envy, his hatred and hunger into this kiss. Achilles’ lips were soft and his tongue sweet. Agamemnon felt his manhood stir to life against his thigh.

“Shh,” he whispered against his mouth, running a hand down Achilles’ side. His other kept firm control of Achilles’ wrist. “Give me this, and you can free Patroclus from his vow. Or both your names will be blackened and besmirched forevermore. Traitors. Cowards. Oathbreakers.”

Agamemnon waited. Would Achilles strike out, kill him here and now for his daring? He was no match for the warrior in a fair fight, but he was confident he had the upper hand here. To his right, the ocean rumbled, crashing against the sand mere feet away. Achilles closed his eyes briefly, then gave the barest of nods.

Agamemnon attacked. Swooping down, he crushed their mouths in a second deep kiss, while his hands busied themselves with pushing aside robes and tunics. This time, he’d have the boy on his back. Once ready, he sat back. There was no oil on hand to ease the way, so they would need to improvise. With one hand, he held Achilles’ mouth open, and thrust his fingers inside, using the boy’s own saliva to slick his erection. His other arm held Achilles’ legs up and apart, knees pressing by his shoulders. 

Achilles didn’t make a sound when his body was violently entered. No matter. Agamemnon took him hard and fast, using the body beneath him to appease his lust and fury. The roar of the ocean melded with the clamor within his own mind as he pounded in and out. Achilles’ body was as alluring as he remembered, skin still soft and unblemished, hole tight and welcoming. But this time, cold blue eyes bore into him, open and proud. Unbroken. Anger spurred him to greater brutality. He withdrew completely, only to slam back inside. Again and again, until Achilles was gasping in pain and blood leaked down his thigh. Agamemnon wondered if he were the first man to make Achilles bleed. 

Finally, he couldn’t hold back any longer. This time, instead of spilling inside, he pulled out and emptied his balls onto Achilles’ chest and stomach. Wishing that he had the temerity to mark Achilles’ perfect face as well. He wiped his softening cock along the inside of Achilles’ thigh and then stood. Achilles scrambled to his feet as well, tugging his clothing into place. But his eyes were colder than ice and his voice steady and emotionless.

“We sail in three days’ time. But you will never see Mycenae again.” In the distance, the waves crashed. Turning on his heel, Achilles headed to the sea, movements swift and sure. A chill ran up the length of Agamemnon’s spine as he watched the retreating figure slide into the waves.


End file.
